IT is not easy to work out how much a bobby's job is worth these days, but by Beggarsdale local standards (as opposed to that of the wealthy weekenders) it's not too bad.

Police pay depends on rank, length of service, sometimes area of service and overtime.

A friend's lass signed on as a WPC recently for a starting salary of £16,000, which is more than Owd Tom has made at Hard Rock Farm these past three years. In total.

So for the sake of this article (and to simplify the maths) let's say that a young constable with two or three years under his belt gets £20,000 a year, or roughly £400 a week.

Which means I employed my very own bobby for the best part of a day this week. In Lancashire, of all places.

As I reported in the last column, the full weight of the law fell upon me a month ago when I ventured across the border and was photographed by a speed camera I never saw on a wide road through a village I had never heard of doing 42 mph in a 30 mph zone.

Now I confess I was a naughty boy - I don't encourage speeding and my last ticket was 18 years ago - but I could not have been driving dangerously because the Curmudgeoness was in the car and she goes into cardiac arrest if I have to brake heavily, never mind overtake.

The fine came in this week: £60, or £5 for every mph over the limit and, I suppose, I deserve it. But it would be nice to know where I committed this heinous offence.

As I explained last week, a couple of years ago Sticky Sporran, as the Chancellor is known to his mates, changed the rules and told police forces that they could keep the fines of motorists caught by speed cameras.

At the same time, he cut the money the Government gives to police forces in rural areas. And, surprise, surprise, the number of speed cameras throughout the country has tripled since then and they are now pouring tens of millions of pounds into police coffers.

Which means that my £60 paid a Lanky bobby's wages for some six hours this week. I would love to know how he spent his time at my expense.

Please do not believe that I am anti-police. In these days when drunken thuggery is the norm at weekends in little country towns like Mar'ton, the boys in blue deserve all the support - and the pay - decent folk can give them.

And although I would have preferred my £60 to be spent on a bobby in Beggarsdale. I just hope my Lancashire laddie passed his (my?) time wisely. Sadly, I doubt it.

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.